Chasing Clouds
by Shu of the Wind
Summary: AU, spinning off from The Nightmare Begins. Morgana knows, and she's not about to let Merlin get away with lying to her. Not after everything that's happened. "Don't lie to me. I know you have magic." Eventual Mergana. ON HIATUS.
1. Bryne

**Title: **Chasing Clouds

**Author: **Shu of the Wind

**Rating: **T.

**Summary: **AU spinning off from The Nightmare Begins (2.03). Morgana knows, and she's not about to let Merlin get away with lying to her. Not after everything that's happened. "Don't lie to me. I know you have magic." Possible eventual Mergana.

**Disclaimer: **Applies for all chapters. I do not own BBC's _Merlin_, but I love messing with the characters of Arthurian legend just like the Four J's (my pet name for the creators of the series). So, even if I use quotes from the show, please don't sue me.

**General Notes:** This story was partially inspired by my own willingness to play around with characters of Arthurian legend, something I've been meaning to get into for a _loooong_ time, but also because the whole "Merlin tells everyone else but lies to Morgana when she needs it the most" issue of 2.03 to be slightly implausible. And also, I just love Morgana, and sympathize with her, but I don't want her to go all evil-y. So...this is the result. I don't know how closely it will follow season two - with my luck, the story will develop an enormous mind and ego of its own and refuse to have anything to do with season two, except in passing - but whatever happens, happens. :)

Hope you enjoy.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<br>Bryne**

The door slammed shut behind her, and Morgana clung to it, her breath rattling in her lungs. She felt stretched and very thin, as though someone had taken her by the scalp and by the skin on the balls of her feet and was _pulling_, hard, and pulling her apart the way a baker pulled the dough into long thin winding strips before kneading it back into shape. The whole world seemed to be rocking in its cradle, and she could only cling to the door and hold on and hope it would stop before she broke. Sunlight glinted off a handful of glass shards still left on the windowsill.

_It's odd, isn't it? If lightning struck the window like Arthur said, you'd think the glass would have fallen outside the window._

_Of course it didn't fall outside the window._ She felt a little sick. The stretching feeling turned painful. Like she was being pulled apart, and all that would be left of her would be the fire that was burbling inside her chest, bursting out of her at the seams, swelling and swallowing Camelot whole. _Of course it didn't when I blew it out from the inside._

Blew it out from the inside. She'd destroyed the window, _she'd _lit the fire, and she wasn't going crazy because other people realized it too. Even Uther had, in his strange roundabout way. _They used magic_. Not to reach her room, but to destroy it from within.

It_ was magic. You know it was!_

Magic. She clenched her hand around the iron bolt on her door, and slid it home. _Magic_. Real, honest to God magic, crackling inside her skin. Merlin thought so. Gaius thought so. She thought so. _I'm not crazy_, she thought, and something that should have been a laugh but wasn't came bursting out her throat. She clapped her palm over her mouth and cinched her other arm tight around her stomach, trying to keep herself from making a single sound.

She'd forgotten her tonic and gone back to collect it. Merlin and Gaius had been talking. It had taken everything in her not to burst into the room, flinging accusations. She'd marshaled her control, taken a deep breath, and fled back up the stairs, and now it felt like she was tumbling through a thunderstorm.

Magic. She had magic. She was living in the court of Camelot, she was _Uther Pendragon's _ward, and she had enough magic to set her own curtains on fire and blow out a priceless glass window. (Well, not priceless, but glass was difficult to come by in the best of times.) She stuffed her first two knuckles in her mouth and bit down hard, trying not to scream. Her whole body burned. She was going to die. Uther would kill her if he ever found out. She would be beheaded just like that poor boy in the square, just like Mordred would have been if they hadn't smuggled him out themselves, just like –

_Stop this,_ said the voice in the back of her mind, the one that reminded her of her father when he'd been stern. She didn't remember much about her father, but she did remember that. _Stop this now. Sit down and be quiet, you're only going to make it worse for yourself acting like this._ _Calm down!_

"Calm down," she repeated, and her shoulder blades slammed into the door as she took a step back. She slid down the wall, her arms still clasped tight around her stomach. _Calm down and think_.

Who knew? Gaius. Gaius knew. The thought made the fire in her chest leap and twist, like a striking snake. Gaius knew and he _hadn't told her_. He'd lied straight to her face.

_Talk to her. Tell her she'll be okay. Tell her that her powers aren't something to be afraid of. _

_I can't._

_I can't_, so simple, so final, and she understood why but she still wanted to scream, to stab, to rake her nails down that treasured trusted old face because _he'd lied to her_ and kept her in the dark, made her think she was going crazy, that she was a madwoman who had dreamt it all. _I trusted him and he lied to me_.

_This is a kingdom where magic is outlawed, or have you forgotten that?_

"Shut up." She snapped, and buried her face in her knees. She didn't want to hear reason. She wanted to curl up into a ball and simply hate for a little while, hate everything and everyone until she could no longer stand to be inside her skin any longer and the fire burst out of its own accord and simply _destroyed_.

_You're the only person I've told about my dreams. I know I can trust you, Gaius._

_Yes, of course you can._

"Shut up, Gaius, shut _up_!"

_She isn't sure what's happening to her and it's tearing her apart_.

_I know what's happening and it's _still _destroying me_. She couldn't stay here, that was for certain. She couldn't stay in Camelot. She couldn't trust that she wouldn't lose control again, like she had last night. If she did and Uther saw, she would be killed, king's ward or not. If she wasn't killed, she would at least be thrown into the dungeon. She'd never feel the wind on her face again. She'd have nothing, and she refused to allow that to happen. Not again.

But running now, she'd have nowhere to go and she'd still have nothing. Morgana clenched her hands into fists in her long skirt. At least here she knew she would get food every night. Hate and fear condensed into a single hard ball, and bobbed in her throat. Was this what the people in the lower town felt like every night? _At least if I stay here I'll have food tomorrow._ She'd never felt so poor as she had in this moment, and she'd never felt so terrified in her entire life. Not even when she'd started to have these dreams in the first place. Not when she'd thought Arthur was going to die. Not when she'd seen that raven swooping down and clutching its long talons into her shoulders, digging its beak into her eyes –

_Stop it, they're dreams, they can't hurt you._ But if dreams were her magic, then they could, they really could, and she squeezed the fabric between her fingers until she thought she would scream from the pressure. If her dreams weren't dreams, then oh, God, how many times had Arthur nearly died? How many times had Camelot nearly been destroyed? All the monsters, all the fear – that had all been _real_.

_How have we survived this long?_

Something shattered, and when she looked up, the clay-baked cup on her trunk had exploded into a thousand pieces. Water dripped down the wood, dribbling along corners and angles, and she wondered absently if her clothes were getting wet. The pressure inside her head had eased the slightest bit; the fire in her chest had gone just the slightest bit cooler.

_So. Pressure and fire equals magic. _That made sense. She still felt like she was being stretched, but not quite as much, not quite as urgent. _Use of magic relieves the pressure._ But she couldn't use magic here, not in Uther's castle, and if it was this urgent then how did sorcerers not get caught all the time? If they had to use magic in order to keep themselves from exploding from the force of it, then how did Uther not track them down and kill them?

_Track _us _down. Kill _us_. _The thought made her tremble.

There had to be some way to do it. Had to be some way other than drugging herself down, taking Gaius's potions, numbing her mind until she forgot why she cared about her dreams in the first place. There had to be something she could do without destroying herself again. But too many trips out into the forest and Uther would notice; too many broken vases and Uther would notice; and God forbid she set something on fire again, because if she did she doubted Uther would ever let her out of Camelot again. Selfish bastard that he was.

She was just a bit calmer, now that the pressure had eased. Morgana leaned back and knocked her head lightly against the door, once, twice, staring up at the ceiling and watching the sunlight dapple on the stone. She wondered if she could make the light dance, or was shattering glass and causing fires the only things she could do? _And dreams, of course. I can't forget the dreams._ But the dreams didn't even seem to do anything other than predict might-bes, and until they changed – God forbid that – then she didn't need to care as much about them as she did setting her bed on fire.

How did people _survive _living this way anyway? Especially in Camelot. Why would anybody want to stay in this wretched country when they knew that having magic could get you killed? For a desperate instant she longed for Tintagel and the small castle by the sea where she'd grown up, where witchery was as common as pebbles rubbed smooth by the water. But she was Uther's ward, it had been over a decade since she'd even seen Tintagel, and she wasn't sure the people would remember her or even want her there. And if she left without warning – or even with warning – Uther would send men after her anyway and drag her back, kicking and screaming or not. He was too possessive of his people to let her get away from him now.

So. She was stuck in Camelot for the moment. She was stuck in Camelot as a witch – _sorceress, _sorceress sounded better – with no way to control her powers or predict what would set her off, and no one she could trust. Not even Gwen anymore. Not yet, maybe not ever, and the thought made her chest ache.

_You must never reveal your secret. Not to anyone._

And then all the words tumbling around in her head smashed together and _clicked_, like the gears of a water wheel locking into place, and she stared at the ceiling.

_Maybe I could speak to her._

_No, Merlin. You can't._

_Why not? I understand what she's going through!_

_You must never reveal your secret. Not to anyone._

Not to anyone.

_What makes you so certain that you know better than me?_

_Because I went through the same thing. I know exactly how she's feeling right now._

Not to anyone. Not to anyone. Not to anyone.

Merlin had a secret that he couldn't tell anyone. Something Gaius wouldn't understand. Something that let _Merlin_ understand what _she _was going through, what it was like to doubt your own sanity, to watch a candle flare up and up and up and light a curtain on fire before your eyes as though a dragon had leapt up in the wax and let loose a streaming burst of flame.

Merlin _knew_.

The door vibrated against her back as someone knocked, and Gwen's soft, "My lady, may I come in?" had her up off the floor and at the window, sweeping the last of the glass chips outside into the air. There was a sharp pain in the pad of her hand, and when she pulled away, blood trickled down her arm to stain the cloth around her wrist. She watched it, darker than crimson, lighter than black, sink down and down and down her arm, and as the pale green cloth grew dark and stained, she leaned out the window and stared at the clouds chasing each other across a gray sky.

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><p>She waited until she was absolutely certain everyone else would be asleep before she slipped out of bed, and pulled on her thickest dressing gown. Uther had set up guards around her door, but when she peered out, they were standing at the end of the hall, talking in low voices; one of them was Leon. He looked around, caught sight of her, and went absolutely still. "My lady?"<p>

"It's nothing." She slipped out of her room and closed the door quietly behind her. "I find I can't sleep. I don't think Uther will mind if I go down to see Gaius, do you?"

"One of us should come with you, my lady."

"Do you honestly think last night was anything other than one of my nightmares?" She asked tartly, and when Leon's ears went pink she knew she'd hit her mark. "I simply can't sleep, that's all. Gaius's potion is wearing off. And Gwen's had a much worse day than I have, taking care of me. I don't want to wake her."

Only part of that was true, but it was enough to soften Leon. He hesitated, and then stepped out of her way, ignoring the soft hiss of the other guard. "We'll walk you."

"I'd prefer to go on my own."

"I insist." Leon said, in that steely voice she recognized as Arthur's Command Voice, the one he used with all the knights. She ground her teeth for a moment, and then offered him a small smile.

"Thank you. You're very kind."

The infirmary was deadly quiet when she left Leon at the door and stepped across the threshold. It smelled like rosemary and thyme, just like it always did, with a mix of woodsmoke and something else sour. Gaius wasn't there; his bed was empty, and the fire was low in its grate. She had no idea what time it was, and she didn't much care because she hadn't wanted to talk to Gaius anyway, but for an instant she wondered what such an old man would be doing out so late. _Probably talking with Uther_. And in spite of herself, her lip twisted the slightest bit. She cleared her throat, and rapped on the table. "Excuse me?"

No answer for a moment. And then a dark head popped out of the back room, and she could swear that she saw a flash of wariness in Merlin's face before his silly servant smile came back and he was bounding down the stairs. "My lady Morgana, are you feeling better?"

"Not particularly." She glanced back at Leon behind her, and caught him stifling a yawn. "Oh, for goodness sake, Leon. Go to sleep." He blinked at her, and opened his mouth to reply, but she turned on her best Charm Smile and laid a hand on his arm. "We both know that nothing happened last night. I'm not in danger. And I'm sure Merlin can see me back to my chambers once I have my potion."

His stubborn face remained. "I'm supposed to watch over you, my lady. King's orders."

"I am the king's ward, and you're exhausted. So now I'm _ordering _you to go and catch up on some sleep. Owen will still be guarding my door when I get back, and he's more than enough to deal with an assailant that isn't even there." She couldn't help the splash of bitterness in her voice, but she didn't think Leon had caught it. Merlin did, though, because he shot her a sharp glance before remembering he wasn't allowed to send her sharp glances and pasting his namby-pamby expression back on.

He wavered, and she had him. Morgana smiled again. "Please, Leon, for me."

"If my lady insists." He phrased it as a statement, spoke it as a question, with a curious lilt to his words. Her smile went sharp and gentle all at once, the way she'd practiced in the mirror.

"Your lady insists."

Another handful of breaths, and then he'd snapped a salute, given Merlin a look that promised revenge if he failed in any way, and vanished out the door. He left it open, of course, but that didn't much matter this late at night. Merlin gave her an inquisitive look, but all he said was, "Did you have another nightmare, my lady?"

"Of course not." She hesitated. "I couldn't sleep."

He shook his head a bit, and went to one of the many cabinets filled with Gaius's remedies. "What was it exactly that you wanted? One of the sleeping draughts? I think we still have some—"

"I don't want any more remedies." Morgana snapped, and Merlin turned to look at her. And he _knew_, and he knew _she_ knew, she could see it in his face. Her heart was pounding, she realized, and the fear and pain in her throat had begun to evaporate.

"Pardon?"

"Don't make me say it." She clenched her hands on the back of the nearest chair. "Please, Merlin. Don't make me call you out."

His eyes were as level as flat stone. Merlin looked at her for a long moment, and then gestured to the chair she was clutching. "Would you like to sit down?"

"I'm fine, and don't change the subject." She dug her nails into the wood, and ignored the way it pricked at her fingers. "You and Gaius have been keeping secrets from me, Merlin. From all of us."

She didn't miss the flare of panic. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"_Of course you do_. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, what I'm going through. You said so before. I heard you, when I came back. I didn't mean to, but I thought I forgot something, so I walked back to the infirmary. And I heard you both."

"Before?"

"You said you went through the same thing, Merlin." Her hands were trembling. Morgana pulled away from the chair and wrapped the robe closer around herself. The fire was too low in the grate for her to feel truly warm. "You told Gaius you understood what was happening to me because _you went through the same thing_."

He turned about as pale as milk, as snow, and triumph leapt up in her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Quit parroting yourself, you sound like Arthur in the middle of one of his tantrums." Morgana rubbed her arms for a moment, and then glanced back at the coals. The reds and yellows and golds went a long way to soothing her nerves. "Don't lie to me, Merlin, please. I need—" Her voice broke. "Gaius lied to me. I don't need any more lies."

Merlin stood very still for a very long moment. Morgana crouched in front of the grate and held her hands close to the coals. If she looked Merlin in the face any longer, she was either going to lose her temper or her control or her mind or all three, and she didn't want to dissolve into a heaving weeping mess for the second time in as many days.

"What do you expect me to say, Morgana?" Merlin said in a very soft voice. Morgana rubbed her hands together, and for an second she thought she saw sparks fly away from her fingers. But it was just a trick of the light. "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you."

"The truth." She wanted to reach into the bed of coals and grasp them, and feel the searing heat of them in the instant before they burned her hands into monstrosities. "What's so hard about telling me the truth, Merlin?"

He laughed, but it was more of a snort than the out and bold chuckle she'd come to expect from him. Somehow that only made more sense to her. There was nothing funny about this, nothing at all. _This _was nothing but secrets and lies and threats and death if Uther found out. "You'd be surprised."

"Did that make it easier to lie to me?" She turned and glanced at him over her shoulder. He'd dropped down onto one of the stools, his hands clenched into fists against the fabric of his trousers. In this light his eyes looked almost grey. "Merlin, I'm your friend. Please don't lie to me."

He raked his hands through his hair, rubbing angrily, and didn't look at her. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Her temper frayed, spun close to snapping. "Tell me the truth, Merlin! You know I have magic, don't you?" He stayed quiet. Her voice went hawk sharp. "_Don't you_?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. And that was her answer. Something that he should have said, but couldn't say; some lie that he should have told her, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Something relaxed in her chest. Morgana reached forward, and stopped before she took his free hand in both her own. It was too shocking intimate. There was no point. "Merlin, please. Please don't lie to me again."

"What is it you want me to say, Morgana?" His voice was almost dull. "That I think you have magic?"

"It's not a question of _thinking_." She rubbed her palms together, absently. "You know I do. Merlin, I thought I was going crazy, all my nightmares, seeing the candle—" The memory made her flinch. "You know it's the truth, Merlin. Please. I just need to hear you say it." _So I know I'm not going mad._

He groaned. "Morgana, this is – we shouldn't be talking about this. Do you have any idea what Gaius would do to me if he found out?"

"Do you have any idea what Uther will do to the both of us if_ he_ finds out?" She rejoined. "Merlin, please. I'm scared. You're my friend, Merlin, you know I wouldn't joke about something like this."

Finally, he cleared his throat, and said, "What would you do if you did have magic?"

"I'd run away." Her answer was so immediate that she nearly surprised herself, but it wasn't all that surprising. "And that's what I plan to do. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. It'll be a long time before I can. But this place, these people, they're dangerous to me and to people like me. And I'm alone here." She turned to him and made sure he looked her straight in the face before she said, "I want to go someplace where I wouldn't feel so alone."

Nothing physically changed about his expression, or the way he was studying her over his interlaced fingers, but she could have sworn the air grew softer. It was as though some sort of tension she hadn't even been aware of had vanished, suddenly, and it left her reeling. Morgana steadied herself against the wall beside the grate, but she never looked away from him. "You understand, don't you?"

When he replied, his voice was almost inaudible. "Better than anyone."

They looked at each other. Then, finally, Merlin sighed, and said, "You can't tell anyone, Morgana, Do you understand?"

She bristled. "Of course I understand! I saw those executions just as often as you, Merlin, you don't need to pander to me."

"All right, don't bite my head off." She didn't feel less like biting anyone's head off. In fact, she felt like dancing. "I can't believe you eavesdropped on us."

"I was in a panic." Morgana straightened, and looked at him. _Really _looked at him, for the first time in a very long time. Maybe ever. "You're a sorcerer."

He winced. "I prefer warlock."

"And I'm—"

"A witch."

Her eyebrow arched. "I prefer sorceress."

"Right then." The air hardened again, and began to buzz with nervous energy. Merlin stood, and strode away from her, rubbing at his ear as though something was whispering in it. She straightened, but stayed by the fire, watching him as he paced back and forth, dragging his fingers along the spines of books, stopping to study the herbs. Finally he turned back again. "Morgana—"

"Yes?"

Merlin paused. "You're shivering."

"What?" She shook her head. "No I'm not."

The look he gave her could have scorched whitewash off a wall, and abruptly she wondered where this Merlin had come from. Usually he was so quiet. Clumsy. The awkward goofball to Arthur's priggish arrogance and Gwen's fierce, passionate support. "I should take you back to your room. If you catch a cold, Arthur is _not_ going to be happy with me."

Frustration blazed through her, and the pressure was back, pounding against the inside of her skull. Morgana snarled a curse under her breath, and Merlin's eyes widened the slightest bit. "I'm not going back to my room until you tell me why you lied to me, Merlin!"

"I thought you said you already knew the truth."

"But I want to hear you say it." Her voice rose. "_Tell me why_!"

Behind her, she heard something crackle, and then a roar of heat blazed up against her back. The coals had erupted into flames again, blazing higher and burning bright emerald green. Morgana backed up so fast she crashed into the table. "No."

"Morgana." Merlin said, and she turned to look at him, and she couldn't think how desperate her eyes must have been for him to look that worried. In spite of herself, though, she felt a spark of annoyance. _He has no right to pity me when he's been lying to me all this time._ "Take a deep breath. Calm down."

"I told you." She sniped at him, but she took a deep breath anyway. Her hand twitched at her side.

"I never said I didn't believe you." He chided softly. The air shifted again, and she could smell damp fields and the crackle of lightning in an oncoming storm. He wasn't looking at her; he was staring into the emerald green flames as though searching for something.

"Merlin?"

"You created the flames." He said, in that same quiet voice. "You can put them out."

"What?"

He just looked at her. Morgana made an impatient noise. This wasn't going according to plan at all. "I don't know _how_!"

"You don't?"

"No, of course not!" She swore under her breath as the flames leapt higher. "Merlin—"

He lifted a hand, and said something. She wasn't sure what it was. The feeling of lightning against her skin grew stronger; the hairs on her forearms and the back of her neck stood on end as his eyes flashed pale. The flames turned red, and then lowered, until they were nothing more than little flickers in the grate, like scraps of cloth fluttering in the wind. Merlin let out a long breath, and eyed her, considering. "Well."

"Well." She repeated, and waited. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do now. Her plan hadn't gone much past _get him to tell the truth_. And now she was tired. And cold. And hungry. God. Her stomach felt like an acorn. "Now what?"

"Now we need to tell Gaius you know." He said, and let out a breath. "And then teach you as much control as possible so you don't go turning the crown on Uther's head into a viper the next time you get into an argument with him."

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><p><strong>Next Episode:<strong>

****_As Morgana begins to discover her magic, another visit to the Great Dragon proves to provide more questions than answers...and Uther's hunt takes an unexpected turn._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

The reason why Morgana's magic is more explosive here, as opposed to in the show, is that she actually _believes_ in her magic. Now that she's heard Merlin and Gaius talking about it as a fact, she's acknowledged it, and subconsciously that acknowledgment has tied it to her emotions. It's automatic. She's not nearly as powerful as Merlin, but it's strong enough to scare her.

Things will be more interesting next chapter, I promise. I hope I kept everyone in character and the whole scenario was believable.

Ciao,

Hope.


	2. Gestillan

**Chapter Two  
>Gestillan<strong>

She was screaming.

She was screaming and screaming and she couldn't stop herself, because the dream still had her wrapped up in its claws, and even though she was awake and her eyes were open she couldn't stop screaming. Morgana clenched her hands around the blankets and buried her face in her knees, rocking back and forth as she wailed, and the flames still burned inside her mind, pain and sorrow and suffering and fury, and in the back of her mind she felt something shift and stir and waken, but she didn't care. All there was, was the fire, and the smoke, and the dead, and she didn't care.

"My lady!"

It was Gwen. Morgana's eyes snapped open, and her mouth clamped shut. _Stop screaming. Stop it. Stop it now_. Gwen put the candle on the table at Morgana's bedside and put her arms around her, and Morgana clung to her for a long unsteady moment while the world spun sickly around her. Blood and ravens, like Cornelius Sigan's, and she pressed her hand against her mouth and tried not to vomit. Her cheeks were damp. She'd been crying in her sleep. Morgana held tighter to Gwen, closed her eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe. _Calm down. Calm down. You're all right._

"You're all right, my lady." Gwen said, and Morgana wondered if she would ever be all right again.

It was much later when she finally could bring herself to leave her room – _this is ridiculous, you're a grown woman, there's nothing to be afraid of, you're not alone anymore – _and it took her even longer to gain the courage to go downstairs to the infirmary. Gaius was on his way out when she turned the last corner, and the expression on his face when he caught sight of her told her everything she needed to know. Morgana paused, and before he could say anything, she cut him off. "He didn't tell me. I overheard."

"So he mentioned," said Gaius, and gave her the beady-eyed look that would have reduced her to shame two days ago. Now, it just made her angry, and the crackling of magic in her stomach in response to her anger made her palms sweat. "And there's no way I can convince either of you to forget this ever happened, I suppose."

"No. There's not."

When had Gaius grown so old? She'd known before now that he was old – older than Uther, older than anyone else in the castle – but she hadn't _known _until now, because now she could see all the lines around his eyes and the disappointment around his mouth and how the years were weighing on him in a way she'd never seen before. Morgana waited, and watched him, and Gaius watched her in turn, until finally he cleared his throat, and said, "I don't ask for forgiveness, my lady, but I hope you understand my reasoning."

"I'm afraid I don't." She said, in an icy voice. "And I'm glad you don't ask for forgiveness, because I don't think there's any way I will ever be able to give it."

He winced. "Morgana—"

"I don't want to talk to you now, Gaius," she said, and started for the infirmary, but he cleared his throat.

"If you're looking for Merlin, he's out in the stables working for Arthur."

She wavered. Inside, she felt like she was trembling; whether it was from frustration or sadness or terror or magic or all of the above, she couldn't ever tell. "…thank you."

"Be safe, the pair of you." Gaius said as he passed. "That's all I ask."

She was very careful not to look behind her until she heard his slow footsteps fade away down the hall.

It had been a long time since she'd visited the stables, and a wave of nostalgia swept over her at the scent of it. She couldn't remember the last time, actually, despite the familiar smell of hay and horse, the last time she'd walked into a stable – any stable – and tacked up her own horse. It was something Gorlois had always insisted that she learn how to do, and one of the many things that Uther insisted was no longer necessary for her to do for herself. Like dress. And bathe. And, apparently, exist at all. She clenched her teeth and forced that thought away.

Merlin was in the far back, futilely pushing at one of the horses to try and get at the last scrap of used straw under the creature's hooves. Without speaking, Morgana took the rope and angled it, forcing the horse back two steps, and began to stroke its nose. It was a new purchase, a beautiful gray, one she hadn't seen before, and she – a mare, with a pretty head and trim black stockings – nudged Morgana's hand lightly in return. Merlin coughed.

"Thanks."

"You're allowed to touch the horses, you know." She said, watching as he collected the final shovelful and dumped it into his wheelbarrow. "I don't think I've ever seen this one before, though."

Merlin glanced at her, and shrugged. "Someone brought it in yesterday." The horse threw her head again, wrenching the rope in Morgana's hands, and Merlin swore under his breath. "Right. Right, _you_ aren't going to be helpful anytime soon."

"She's beautiful." Morgana said, and ran her hand down the horse's shoulder. She hadn't been riding in days. Her fingers itched for the reins. "Aren't you a beauty, my girl?"

"Beautifully stubborn, maybe." Merlin said, and for some reason, he sounded more than a little amused. "She's a lot like some people I know."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't be coy, Merlin, you sound like Arthur when you try it."

"And God forbid I ever sound like Arthur." He put his shovel down, and crossed his arms over his chest. One eyebrow slid up his forehead. "I heard from Gwen you had another nightmare last night."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Right then." Merlin said, and picked up the wheelbarrow. After a second, he set it back down again, and looked at her, and Morgana watched him back. "Now what?"

Well, that was curt. _Now what?_ Now what did they do? Now how did they keep up the pretense? Now that the truth was out for the two of them, how did they cope? "I don't know." She said simply, and rested her forehead on the mare's cheek. "I was hoping you would have some clue."

"I'm about as confused as you are, so good luck with that." She scowled at him, but Merlin ignored her. He scratched his head, thoughtful. "Well, clearly, I have to train you a little bit, but I don't know what you can do." Pause. He shifted his feet. "I…I don't know if I'd be the right one to teach you. I'm not the best teacher."

"You must have learned somewhere. Besides, it can't be all that difficult to be a teacher. Arthur teaches swordplay every day, and we both know how Arthur is."

He stayed quiet for a moment, and then smiled a bit. "You'd be surprised. Besides, it'd be better for us to keep apart for now, especially with Uther on the warpath." His eyes widened, and he hurriedly added, "No offense! I mean, it's not like I don't want to help you, it's just—"

"Uther." She snapped, and in her chest the ball of emerald fire flared up and spread. "I know."

Merlin's eye snapped back to her, and he tilted his head to one side, as though studying something only he could see. "You're screaming, Morgana. Take a breath."

"What?"

"Deep breath."

Oh. The magic. She took a huge gulp of air, and then another, and she steadied out, but only slightly. Morgana looked at him, pleading. "Look at me, Merlin. I can't even hold my own temper. I can't set anything else on fire, or have any more accidents – he's already imprisoned a dozen people on suspicion of sorcery, I don't want to get any of them killed. And I don't want any more drugs," she snapped, when he opened his mouth to reply. "I can't stand how they make me feel. I can't _think_ when I take them."

"I wasn't going to suggest that." He squawked, and immediately she felt a bit guilty. Of course he wouldn't have. It was Merlin; he'd been all for telling her the truth in the first place. Merlin wavered, and then gestured her towards the edge of the stable. "Come on. I think I have an idea."

She tied the horse back to the railing before she followed.

The tack room was cool and quiet, and smelled of leather and metal. Merlin left the door open, but she still hesitated a little bit before following him inside; there was only just enough space for them both to sit on the floor, which was clearly his plan, and Morgana glanced automatically at the door to the stable before copying him, crossing her ankles and bending her knees to give him a little more room. He was so gangly, after all. Merlin waited until she'd settled before clearing his throat. "Okay. Um, how much do you actually know? About magic I mean."

Morgana began to speak, and then stopped herself. How much did she _know_? She knew next to absolutely nothing about magic; she only knew what she'd heard from Uther. "I've always been taught that magic is evil. That it corrupts your soul. But that's Uther talking. I…I remember hearing about spells in Tintagel, but nothing in specifics, and my father…my father always kept me away from it. He said I was too young. At least, that's what I'm told."

"So I should assume you know about as much about magic as Arthur knows about girls and start there." He quipped, and in spite of the fact that she was crammed into a too-small tack room learning something that was so totally illegal even mentioning it could get her clapped in irons, Morgana smiled. "When you think about magic, what is it that comes into your mind?"

"Spellcasters. Curses. Poppets." She took a breath. "Pain."

Merlin held his hands together for a long moment, and then drew them apart, and a flower sat on his palm. He faltered, and then whispered something; his eyes shifted to gold, and the flower transformed into a butterfly that held still just long enough for her to see that it was pattered blue and gold. Then it fluttered away, and she watched it go, holding her breath. It vanished just before it reached the entrance to the stable.

"Magic is part of the fabric of our world." Merlin said. "It's everywhere around us. It has a will of its own; it lives and breathes as we do, but most definitely _not _as we do. It's alien, but it's who we are. We all have the potential to use magic, but some are born with it inside of them, like you."

Light flared around his hands, and she watched it, transfixed. "What about you?"

"Still learning." He shrugged. "You can't ever know everything about magic. It's the core of the universe. It simply _is_, in a way that the rest of the world isn't. Magic…it can't be explained, but it explains everything around us."

Morgana thought about that for a moment. "None of that makes any sense."

"It will once you start learning. Take my hand."

"What?"

"I'm not going to bite." He added, when she did nothing, simply looked at him with wide eyes. "If you want control, this is the way you can start."

Wordlessly, he offered his hand, and she took it. There were calluses on his palm, but his fingers were long enough to match hers, and his hand was just a bit larger, and surprisingly dry. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't exactly comfortable for her, either, and she shifted a bit, unsettled. Merlin looked at her, and Morgana wondered whether it was the magic or the light that was making his eyes go quite so blue. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not." She lied. His mouth quirked.

"Magic is what we make of it, my lady. It's not inherently good or evil; like a sword, its actions depend on the person who uses it. There are those who use it for…nasty purposes, yes, but there are a lot more of us who use it for good." He let out a long breath. "_Aetiewe_."

Gold. Blue and gold and green and brown. All the colors of the earth. The tack room suddenly rushed with the sound of the ocean; she could hear the whisper of wind in forest leaves, and smell the sharpness of a lightning strike, and heavy rain on wet grass, and the salty brine of seaweed. Merlin let his hand slip out of hers, and suddenly only the green remained, threaded through with silver. Her fingers were glowing with the colors, and Morgana sucked in a breath as the ribbons of light stroked her skin, traced down the curve of her neck and over her shoulders and down her arms. And then it faded, and the burning brand of magic inside her ached, as though something more than light had been lost.

Her voice broke a bit when she finally gathered the will to ask. "What was that?"

"Well." Merlin said, and broke the spell. "Gaius'd say that was showing off. But…um. That was magic, I guess. It's not always like that," he added hurriedly, when her eyes bulged. She was surprised they didn't pop out of her head. "That's…I asked it to reveal itself. I wasn't all that specific so…it made its own decision I guess."

"The _magic—_"

"Well, specifically your magic. And a little bit of mine, I think." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Magic changes for each person. Sometimes it's…you have to remember, my lady, it's a tool, but it's also a _living_ tool. So depending on who uses it, it takes totally different forms."

"How do you use it?" She asked, and to her surprise, Merlin's ears went pink.

"Like I said, it depends on the person."

"No, I meant—" She frowned. There was something in his eyes begging for her not to say anything more; he didn't want to talk about it. Morgana frowned. "All right."

He relaxed. But only slightly. She changed the subject. "I don't really think that had a lot to do with control, to be honest."

"Right." His eyebrows snapped together. "Well, control's a bit different for each person, like magic is, so….I can teach you the general idea, but _you're _the one who's going to have to figure out how you can control your own magic. Does that make sense?"

More than the _magic is inexplicable but explains everything_ mantra. "Like how a swordsman can learn a stop-thrust, but he moves into it differently depending on the fight."

Merlin beamed at her. "Exactly. Now, you can't stick it into something because if Uther finds it we're both dead, and I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to go off and blow up boulders every time you overload—" Not that there were any boulders near Camelot anyway, but the image was enough for her to smirk. "—so you're going to have to make something."

"Excuse me?"

"The simplest way to control your magic – if you're born with it, anyway, it's different for people who have to teach themselves everything – is to use it." She must have blanched, because he added quickly, "It doesn't have to be obvious! And you don't have to cast any spells either, and it wouldn't be every day because it takes a while for magic to build back up."

That wasn't exactly reassuring. "But what do I _do_?"

"You're a seer, or we think you are. I mean, you could just be having random nightmares, but considering your magic woke me up every night this past week I'd doubt it. Not your fault," he added, as she flushed bright pink. "Would've woken up anyway probably. Don't sleep really well lately. But the nightmares are what your magic is using to expend itself. I'd say push for more dreams, but somehow I think you'll want to sleep sometime during the rest of your life. So I was thinking you would make something."

Morgana stayed quiet for a very long moment. Wondered if this was a joke. "….make something."

"Yeah. Make something."

"With magic."

"Well, sort of. You can't put your magic _into_ something, like I said before, but you can make something _with_ magic."

"But…" Uther flashed in her mind's eye. "But that's suicide."

The humor vanished from his face. "Not if you do it carefully. Please, Morgana. You have to realize that if you don't use your magic, or – channel it, in some way, you could go insane. It could kill you. Not using a gift….it can destroy you. Your nightmares will get worse; you'll start wandering into daydreams. It'll go faster now that you know you have magic. Your ignorance…it kept you safer. That's why Gaius wanted to keep it quiet, he didn't want you to get hurt, because without a teacher, your visions _will_ eventually drive you mad."

She suddenly felt very cold.

"Gaius didn't want me to tell you this soon." He said anxiously. "But you wanted honesty. So…so honestly, if you don't do something, if we don't find someone to teach you, it could get really, really bad. For both of us."

"How would it get bad for you?"

"You know the truth about me, Morgana. Well, some of it anyway." Pause. Merlin looked away from her. "Other than Gaius, you're the only one who knows that…that's _here_. And if you go mad, then…"

He didn't seem to be able to say it. Her throat tightened; Morgana reached forward and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. Merlin squeezed back, and offered her a very small, very sad smile before he let go.

"It would have to do with your dreams. And I can understand if that's too hard for you, but it might help you sleep better—"

"I'll do it."

"Brilliant. I was thinking you could draw them."

That threw her. "Excuse me?"

"I read about it in a book on seers, last night." He'd been reading about seers last night? Morgana blinked at him. There was no other way she could respond. "You could draw it or write it or…something else, I don't know. But there's a word – hold on—"

The parchment he drew out of his pocket was folded over so many times it was about the size of his thumbnail, and he handed it to her as he kept talking. "What they do – what they used to do, in Camelot – was they would choose something, some outlet, and then they'd say that."

His writing was so chicken-scratch that it took her a long moment to figure it out what he'd even written, let alone how to pronounce it. Part of it was in Welsh, which made it a little easier. "_Aliese breuddwydion_?"

"Is that how you say it?" He asked, and then continued, "But if you channel just a little bit of the magic into the words – you can imagine the light again if it helps – then it should put you into this sort of…waking sleep. And you'll draw it, or write it, or whatever it is that needs to happen. You'll see the vision, but you'll be able to influence it, just a little bit, and when you write it down…when you write it down, it won't affect you so much. There's not much else we can do until we find someone who really understands Seeing, but…this should help you for now."

She looked at the paper, and then up at Merlin, and then down at the paper again, and her mouth was suddenly very dry, and her eyes felt damp. "You found this for me?"

"'course." Merlin said. "I found it a while ago, actually, but…Gaius made me promise not to give it to you. I think that's kind of pointless now though."

"A bit, yeah." She ran her thumb over the words. "Just…thanks."

"No problem." Merlin paused. "You're not going to want to do that on your own, though. It'd probably be best if you come down to the infirmary later today. Just…until you get used to it. I won't be there, but Gaius will be, and he'll lock the door. It won't seem strange, you always spend hours in the infirmary after a nightmare, so nobody will wonder about it. And I don't know how long this will take, so…that'd be best."

There were a lot of things she could say to that. Morgana swallowed them, and then crumpled the paper up and offered it to him. "You'd better burn this."

"You try."

"What? I can't—"

"If you can light your own curtains on fire you can burn a piece of paper." He did have a bit of a point. Morgana looked down at the scrap of paper in her hands, and chewed the inside of her cheek.

"But I don't know how I did that?"

"Oh, right, words." He took the paper back. "Now that I think about it, considering you lit your curtains on fire when you weren't even trying, it might not be the best idea for you to light something on fire in a building with a thatched roof. But…_baerne_."

He yelped as the parchment went up like a small torch, and waved his singed fingers through the air. Merlin sucked on his forefinger for a moment, and then said, "That's basically it. A lot of sorcerers use words to control their magic. When you get better, you'll be able to cast spells without sound, but for now, I think this is enough."

_Baerne_. She filed that one away into her memory. Morgana took a breath, her head spinning wildly. "….oh."

"You'd better go. Uther will be looking for you."

"And Arthur will be looking for you." She rejoined. His expression was priceless; she fought back a laugh. "He went tilting this morning."

"Don't remind me. I'm going to be cleaning his armor all afternoon, I can feel it." He groaned to his feet, and put down a hand to help her up. Morgana took it. For a second, she thought she felt the clean blue-gold -green light again, the one that had tasted of forests and lightning, but then it was gone. She'd probably just imagined it. "Good luck, Morgana."

She paused at the entrance to the stable, and turned back to look at him. But Merlin was no longer paying attention. He'd gone back to the horse, fighting to get at the wheelbarrow again, and the snorts of the gray mare hid her voice perfectly.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>They locked her in Merlin's room. Morgana wasn't certain if she should be offended or relieved about that. Offended that Merlin hadn't picked up his dirty socks in days, or relieved that no one would look for her here? Offended that they locked her in, or relieved that there was a barrier between her and the rest of the castle? Considering that it would only be Gaius watching the door, the lock made her feel a little better about being discovered.<p>

Merlin was still working, and probably would be for a few hours more. Arthur always went to bed quite late, no matter what day it was or how early he had to get up the next morning, which, she realized, meant Merlin couldn't go to sleep until late either. She'd never really thought about it before. It wasn't something she'd ever considered. Morgana ran her hand over the spine of the blank book she'd conned out of the castle librarian, and on the trunk someone had left a pot of ink and a sharpened quill. Merlin or Gaius, she wasn't quite sure, but it would do for her purposes. She hoped it would.

As she stood in the middle of the room, staring at the inkpot and the quill, she realized it. Doing this – casting a spell – this was the final crossing. If she did this, now, she was forever doomed in Uther's eyes. And something, some part of her, feared that. Some little hint of who she had been screamed at that, wailed and cried and urged her to stop. Once she did this, once she sat down and set pen to paper and said those words, she would be an enchantress, a sorceress, a Seer and everything that was wrong in Camelot. _I don't know what I'm doing. I could kill us all. _She'd read stories in the library before Uther had had the fairy tales burned, of witches or warlocks who were too ambitious, and their magic had consumed everything in them and everything around them. Morgana scrubbed her damp palms on her skirt, and her eyes flickered around the room. It was much smaller than she'd expected it to be, though she wasn't sure what she'd ever been expecting of a servant's quarters. On the bed, the pillow was squashed up and bent to the side; the blankets were kicked back. Gaius had picked up some of the clothes, but he hadn't managed to find all of them, and if she angled her head she could spot a pair of socks hanging off the chest of drawers.

The blue-green-gold magic she'd felt in the tack room prickled against her skin, and the word slipped out of her before she even realized it.

"_Aetiewe._"

The whole room was glowing. Some surfaces, like the dusty bookshelf and the window shutters and the box of old tincture bottles in the corner were just sprinkled with the stuff, glowing bluey-green sparkles, but other places were drenched with it, and she wondered if Merlin knew just how much magic rubbed off of him. She wondered how much magic he actually _had_. If this much was just coming off of him…her palms were damp again. She backed up and hit the wall, trying to remember. What had Merlin said? _I'm still learning._ Only learning and there was this much smeared _everywhere_, and even though it wasn't threatening it was there and glowing bright in her mind –

"Lady Morgana?" Gaius's voice came through the wall, and when she blinked, the spell was broken. "Are you all right?"

She had to clear her throat a few times before she could work out a small "Fine!" and catch her breath. It was just an ordinary room again. Morgana drew a deep breath, and then settled at the trunk, opening the notebook wide on the wood. The pages were creamy and blank, freshly minted; it was one of the new copybooks from the library, the ones that were supposed to go to the monastery outside of Camelot's walls. They wouldn't notice just one missing.

She wet her lips, and inside her chest, she felt the magic stir.

"_Aliese breuddwydion._"

She dreamed.

It felt different than her usual dreams. Her usual dreams were disjointed, wrapped in fire and blood; they shifted wildly, nothing concrete, strange, fantastical things in normal places and normal things in strange, fantastical places. They weren't always frightening, but it was the utter incoherency of them, the way they flipped back and forth between life and death and fire and night and darkness and the howling screams of monsters that would destroy her.

But this one was different. She knew it was a dream in a way that she'd never been able to tell with her nightmares; she felt apart from it, almost a spectator, not a participant, and she watched herself start up the hill to her father's grave with absolutely no emotion. The image of the hill was clear as a bell, and that was somehow even more frightening.

She began to draw, and the paper was cold and smooth against her fingers as she sketched out the hill and the small figure marching up to the cairn.

The dew was cool and damp against her ankles as she slid through the grass, her traveling cloak wrapped tight about her. It was early morning, and the mist spun around her in long twisting strands like the smoke from a small fire. For an instant, she thought she actually _smelled_ smoke, and as she watched herself mount the hill, her heart began to pound. Her dream-self ignored it. Of course. Her dream-self always ignored everything important until it was too late. That wouldn't change now.

The hill grew steeper. It was taller than normal, at a sharper angle, but she kept walking with a bunch of white roses in her hands. For an instant she wondered where she'd found white roses – she'd only ever seen them at Tintagel – but then the thunder rolled across the fields and Morgana turned around to look back at the clouds as they billowed out, wide and thick and black. The smell of a rainstorm swelled in the air.

In the distance, lightning flashed, and dream-Morgana walked faster, but Morgana herself turned and took a few running steps before she'd been lifted into the air by the force of the breeze. Air rustled under her wings, cold and sharp, as the raven banked to the south, back towards Camelot.

Flames leapt up around her city like teeth on the jaws of a dragon. She drew it, and tears slipped down her face to splash into the wet ink before it dried, blotching it, and green smoke rose from the spots. The raven arced over them, and even at a hundred feet up it could feel the heat of the fire and smell burning flesh. It let out a long aching cry, and the part of her that was still human curled up into a ball and wailed. The bird cared nothing for that, only for shelter from the storm, and it swooped in through the window of the great hall and perched on the back of Uther's chair.

The empty room was painted red. Broken bodies spread across the floor. She saw Uther with his chest broken open; the place where his heart should have been was blackened and broken, like it had been frozen too long. Next to him lay Arthur, and blood made a pretty crown on his wheat-colored head. (Impossible with black ink, she needed color, color, color, but all she had was ink and that would have to do for now.) Gaius lay in two pieces. Gwen and Merlin were nowhere to be found. In the roar of the rain, she heard something else, horse hooves on stone, and a soft voice she swore she recognized. And then she turned, and all she saw were eyes made of fire, and a great mouth opening to swallow her whole –

On the faraway hill, Dream-Morgana continued to walk, the blood rain turning her white roses deep crimson. Her pupils grew wider, wider, wider, and Morgana fell through them into the darkness of the forest. She was surrounded by great clicking beasts with long tails and pincers, and when she turned to run, she felt like she was moving through syrup – pain lanced up her leg –

In the distance she felt her hand scrape against the creamy paper, and her fingers tap the ink bottle as she refreshed the quill and continued to draw in long, sweeping strokes –

There was a burst of fire as a great dragon unhinged its jaws and blew more flame and smoke at the tallest tower in Camelot. Morgana flinched and closed her eyes against the heat of it, but she could still smell cooked meat. In an instant, the raven had appeared, and carried her away from it all, spiraling high over a misty forest. Blue eyes found her, pierced her. _Morgana_.

The name left her in a caw. _Mordred_.

She sketched the face in quick rough strokes, and turned the page. She'd never had a dream this long before, and never one this complicated. Stars burst on the inside of her eyelids. She could barely breathe –

_Aglain, it's Morgana, Morgana needs our help – _

And the crow spiraled up and up and up into the sky, up and up and up into the sun as the dragon swooped down and flame swallowed the world –

_We're coming_ –

"Morgana."

A hand touched her shoulder. Gaius. Something cold struck her hand, there was a clatter, and Morgana jolted awake. Her hands were spattered with ink, and the pot had gone flying to hit the wall; out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blankets and pillows settle on the bed again. For an instant she wondered how Gaius had made it inside, and then realized that she must have blown the door open. _Note to self. Get stronger locks._

"Gaius." She replied, curtly, and studied her ink-stained hands. The fluttering pages of the book caught her attention. Fire and smoke. A figure on a hill. She flipped through. A raven. A cairn. A cave. A dragon. She felt Gaius go still behind her at the sight of that one, but it was the next one that froze her cold.

Two figures. One tall, one short. The tall one was hooded. The small one was not, and even without color, the blue eyes shone out at her from the paleness of the paper. In the corner of the page, two words had been slashed with the remainder of the ink, and it wasn't her handwriting.

_We're coming._

* * *

><p>The stairs were slick with damp, like they always were after a rain, and Merlin nearly slipped on the bottom stair as he turned to head down the tunnel towards the dragon's cavern. For once, the torch was light in his hand. For once, he wasn't dreading the stairs that led down to the pit that Uther's men had broken into over fifteen years before.<p>

Why would someone even build a castle on top of a cavern? It didn't particularly worry him – though, now that he thought about heavy the castle must be, it probably should – but it always made him the slightest bit uneasy to head down into the caverns, ever since his mother's illness, the fight with Nimueh.

_Did you know my mother would die?_

_I knew the price would be a heavy one._

_But you sent me anyway!_

_Your destiny is to protect the young Pendragon until he claims his crown. And when he does, magic can be returned to the realm. Only then will I be free._

All the Great Dragon wanted – all the Great Dragon ever wanted – was to be free. And if he had to kill to do it, he would. But he couldn't ever be free. Merlin clenched his hand tight around the torch. The Dragon couldn't be trusted; if he was freed, there was no telling what he would do, and Merlin couldn't take that risk. If he was willing to let Merlin's mother die for the sake of keeping Arthur alive, who knew what would happen if the last Dragon – an ancient being of the Old Religion, with great and terrible power – was set free to rage against the man who had destroyed his kind?

Uther would die. And if Uther died, then Arthur would turn against magic and all it stood for, and that was something they absolutely could not afford.

Really, he shouldn't be down here at all, but he couldn't think of whom else to turn to in order to find the Druids. And judging by the surge of magic that had swallowed Morgana's room last night, they needed the Druids. He took the last three stairs all at once, landing with a thump on the floor of the ledge as the echoes just began to fade. There was only blackness for a moment; he couldn't imagine living down here, in the dark and the damp and the cold. The Dragon was nowhere in sight.

"Hello?"

Nothing. Silence. His good mood – already waning – evaporated entirely.

"_Oi_!" Merlin shouted into the empty pit. "_Dragon_!"

"You have to learn that silence is often just as powerful as shouting your lungs out, young warlock." The voice rang out, and the words vibrated against his skin. The Dragon was in a mood. "In fact, it would mean much more to you if you were _doing your_ _job_."

There was no rush of air, no beating of wings; the Dragon clawed his way up from the darkness, onto the great boulder, like a lizard scrabbling up a stone, his wings tucked in tight against his back. It was the first time Merlin could remember the Dragon having an opportunity to show off and _not_ taking it; the creature was curled into himself, almost cowering, but there was no fear in him at all.

_Waiting._ Merlin thought. _Calculating. Watching._

Watching what?

"What is it you wish of me this time, Merlin?" The great reptile ran his claws along the edge of the stone, and sparks flew like lightning down into the dark of the cave, a flickering death. "Another miracle?" The rocks gaped open, and in the flickering light of the torch they looked like swollen wounds. "Another _favor_?" Scratch, hiss, sparks. The Dragon pinned him to the wall with those great golden eyes. "My favors are not free forever, warlock. You must take account of this."

Yeah. The Dragon was _definitely_ in a sour mood. He seemed to be considering something; after a long moment, he shook his head from side to side and let out a snort that blew smoke out into the abyss. "What is it you want?"

Well, now that _that_ had been worked out, maybe this wasn't the best idea. Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, and then made a snap decision. "I want to know where the Druids are."

"Why?" The Dragon replied instantly, settling his head on his – paws? Feet? Hands? – like a cat, his tail lashing behind him. "Have you finally decided to end the life of Arthur's destined killer?"

"What – _No_!"

"Then you have doomed Albion."

"Just – just shut up for a second, will you?" The Dragon hissed, but stayed quiet, and Merlin cleared his throat. "I just need to ask them something. That's _all_."

"I've lived more than a thousand years, warlock. I've seen civilizations rise, and fall, and destroyed some of them myself." The Dragon's eyes pinned him to the wall, and for the first time Merlin realized that his pupils could go slitty like a cat's. "Do _not_ believe that you can lie to me."

Merlin remained quiet for a long moment. "I want to talk to them about the Sight."

"Ah." The Dragon said, and leaned back, as though frightened of catching a disease. "Why?"

"Why?" Merlin echoed. "_Why_ do you have to know?"

"Don't expect me to help you with nothing in return, warlock." The Dragon let out a long smoky breath. "I am long done with that monotony. I will do you no more favors."

He squawked. "_What_? Do me _favors_? You've done nothing but make things harder for me ever since I came here, stop rewriting history!"

"It is _your _kind that rewrites history, _warlock_." Flames rushed out of his nostrils, and Merlin automatically took two steps back. The last time he'd seen fire in this cavern, the Dragon had been trying to kill him. "Tell me _why_."

"Someone I care about needs their help. That's _all_."

The chains rattled as the Dragon shifted his paws, his eyes never leaving Merlin's face. He was silent for a very, very long time, so long that Merlin almost turned to walk away; then he cleared his throat. "You speak of the witch."

"The what?"

"The witch." He shifted again. "The Lady Morgana."

"Morgana isn't a witch!" Merlin snapped, and clenched his free hand into a fist to keep himself from throwing a spell. It wouldn't do anything – the Dragon's hide was too tough – but it would make finding the Druids far more difficult if he did. "She's harmless. Well, not _harmless_, obviously, but she's a good person. I'd trust her with my life. I _have _trusted her with my life. "

"On occasion, there is nothing I would enjoy more than _baking_ you, warlock." The Dragon hissed, and his tail lashed back and forth. Merlin automatically shifted his weight, settling, ready to cast, but after a moment, the Great Dragon pulled back; his lips peeled away from his teeth in a mockery of a grin. "But that pleasure may be taken from me sooner rather than later."

"Excuse me?"

"You have no idea, do you?" The Dragon said, and Merlin could hear a rumble in the back of his throat, as though the creature was struggling not to laugh. "You haven't felt it?"

"Felt what?"

"Sometimes I wonder how you ever came into existence with such a thick head!" The tail had gone back to lashing. It was highly distracting. Merlin kept his eyes fixed on the Dragon's triangular head, wondering if he would have to throw up a shield sooner or later. "Camelot is in greater danger than it has ever been before, Merlin. I will not aid you in this, for you will destroy us all."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"_The witch is awake_!" The Dragon roared, and Merlin fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the very air vibrated with the words. "She is awake and aware of her magic, and the prophecy has been set into motion. If you do not work quickly, our Albion may be ended before it has even had a chance to begin."

"Morgana wouldn't do that!" Merlin shouted back, but the Dragon laughed, lifted himself to his feet, and spread his wings wide.

"The witch isn't the only thing you should be worrying about."

And then he was gone, and Merlin was left with nothing but questions and a very empty cave.

* * *

><p>In the dungeons, they'd been chained to the walls.<p>

Forridel shifted in her seat, trying to keep her arms from aching quite so much, but it was no use. Uther's dungeons weren't built for comfort, and at least she was tall enough _to_ adjust; the dyer's daughter had been thrown into the cell next to hers, and the child wasn't more than twelve, and small for her age to boot. But her mother had been a rumored weather witch, and that meant she was on the list of suspects.

She grit her teeth, and tugged at her shackles again. Someone was crying. Not the dyer's daughter – her face was dry – but Forridel could hear the stifled sobs of someone accustomed to keeping their tears quiet.

_Forridel_.

She straightened, and looked straight at the wall, past the chains and the guards and the bars of her cage. Around her neck, the charmed necklace grew warm against her skin, and she turned so that the guards wouldn't see the glow of magic under her dress. _Aglain. Thank the Lady._

_Forridel, what's happened?_

_The King's ward is coming into her own. He has imprisoned all those within the city walls with ties to the Old Religion. _She glanced over her shoulder, and the sobbing baker's wife heaved, struggling to breathe through her tears. _Elaine escaped._

_We pray she will find her way to Ascetir_. The connection wavered, almost shattered. _The boy has sensed something he wishes to investigate. We are on our way to Camelot._

_You shouldn't come here! Mordred has already barely escaped this place once, and neither of you are built for stealth._

_Regardless._ Aglain hesitated. _We will be there in two days' time. Be well, Forridel. May the Maiden keep you hale and hearty._

_And you_. She replied automatically, and then the warmth of the stone died.

If Mordred was coming, then that meant her senses had been correct – Morgana had finally come into her own, and what Aglain had told her might finally come to pass. Forridel wrenched at her shackles in frustration, ignoring the guard's shouted order to be quiet. _Brainwashed fools_. She was no Druid; she had no magic of her own, only able to ride on others and sense, sometimes. So she was trapped here, same as the rest of them, until Uther finally gave word to release them, and that day might never come.

She felt it before she heard it. A ripple. It screamed of orange and gold, fire magic, and then the shriek of a maid and the tromp of guards' boots. Forridel closed her eyes to listen as the guards at the front of the cells turned, and spoke in soft voices with a newcomer, who looked into the cages with the eyes of a frightened animal.

Four words only doomed them all.

_King Uther's been attacked._

* * *

><p><strong>Next Episode:<strong>

_An attack on Uther leaves the castle reeling, and Morgana and Merlin scrambling for answers as a pair of Druids marches ever-nearer. Who wants Uther dead? Or, rather - who has the guts to attack Uther in his very own castle with potent magicks?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Thank you everyone for all your reviews! I really didn't expect that many for a first chapter; it was a very happy surprise.

For those who may be wondering, Forridel is the blonde woman Merlin saved in the original _The Nightmare Begins_, the ones who gives him directions to the Druid camp in the Forest of Ascetir.

I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter!

Blessed be,

Hope.


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